Skerry
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: As a country Berwald's entitled to a lot of things, but all he's really ever needed is a little skerry to visit from time to time. / SuNor with a side of SuFin and DenNor. Just a little something for your Berwald pleasures.


Names used: **Sweden** (_Berwald Oxenstierna_), **Norway** (_Lukas Bondevik_), **Denmark**(_Christen Densen_), **Iceland** (_Emil Steilsson_), **Finland** (_Timo Väinämöinen_), **Sealand** (_Peter Kirkland_)

Author's note: SuNor with SuFin and DenNor. The sex isn't terribly graphic, just there. My short one-shot of Be thinking quickly became SuNor in this; I suppose the inner fangirl gets what the inner fangirl wants. I've been kind of iffy about posting this but I love it something awful, and write for my own amusement, so here you go. And yes, they take breaks (will make sense in context). When you're with someone for 500+ years, I imagine a week or two break in the relationship would be just what the doctor ordered, though I'm no expert on the whole 500+ year relationships thing.

Also if you don't know what a skerry is you should probably google it really fast. Because it's kind of important.

* * *

><p><strong>Skerry<strong>

The officials had told him he was crazy, only asking for a little skerry. He was their country, he had done so much for them! So he had been given a big house in Stockholm, and another one in a different part, and a house adjacent to Norway, and one closer to Finland, yet another near Denmark, one out near where Berwald grew up over a millennia earlier, and the little skerry.

The skerry is his favorite though.

* * *

><p>Ironically enough Berwald has to have logs sent in for him to chop, their transport quite labor-intensive. He does it because he doesn't have it in him to chop down the few trees on his tiny island, and the truth is Berwald does loves swinging the axe with great force and cutting his own firewood. He's always done it; why should that stop?<p>

Besides, when he comes to the skerry it's only ever for a week or so, maybe once or twice a year. Sometimes he comes out for a weekend of relaxation with Lukas to escape the loud Dane, or to pass a romantic day with Timo. Berwald still smiles at the memory of coming out to the skerry with Emil, teaching him all those skills he takes for granted that he has from his years as a Viking: chopping firewood, making food without electricity, living the sort of life they used to have, before the world changed so drastically. Emil had never been so proud as when he returned to Lukas, having accomplished something he had never had to do before: fend for solely himself (with Berwald watching of course).

That's part of what Berwald likes about the skerry. It reminds him of his childhood, how alone he felt but how it was a good kind of alone. The kind he can only have when he steps out of his small cabin to look over his petit island, knowing whatever thoughts he has will continue on uninterrupted by the rest of the world. It's like the always-progressing course of history has stopped, frozen like Berwald is in time. He is a skerry in the rushing tides of life; the thought is almost poetic.

* * *

><p>This trip out and the logs are already here, haphazardly thrown up just past the little dock he'd built several years earlier. The steps are a bit steep, since Berwald is the main one who uses them, and so they normally give Timo and Emil problems. But as the boat comes up beside the steps, the Swede tying it off, Lukas has no problem going up the steps to watch Berwald throw their things onto dry land. The companion makes no move to pick any of it up; the larger man is more than capable of carrying all of it easily.<p>

As Berwald steps up onto dry land, taking in the logs and counting them off, Lukas speaks. "You're quite handy."

"Um-" He blushes at that; it was a bit early to start in with that sort of talk.

"I meant," the Norwegian calls lazily over his shoulder without looking back, "in a purely non-sexual manner." Berwald sighs in relief. "You're much more mouthy in bed." Now his cheeks are burning. In the heat of the moment such comments wouldn't have gotten to him, but so casually said as they settle in when it's been so long since they've been alone like this….

When he looks up Lukas is standing over him, watching him. It's been a while, that's for sure, since they've gotten to be alone; maybe ten years? But Timo is sick and they are on a "break", as his Finnish boyfriend puts it. At first the idea had hurt Berwald, who loves Timo more than himself, but the smaller man had insisted that they need their alone time. They had been together nonstop for over five hundred years, something the Finn didn't really want to repeat now that they could be together again. "Besides," Timo had told him years ago when he'd first broached the subject, "you-" and then he had sighed and walked away. Berwald had known exactly what Timo'd meant by that comment, the permission he was granting the dedicated family man: Timo needed time to himself, to revel in finding himself alone after so long, and they both knew Berwald had loved others beyond Timo.

Well, one other in particular.

One other that they both saw a lot of, and Timo had assured Berwald that it was fine. Because when they were together the Swede was dedicated (perhaps too dedicated, though he tried to tone it down) to solely his lover, never wavering, never wondering nor cheating. His eyes never strayed when he was with Timo.

But the Finn had wanted his alone time, wanted to be able to go out and feel good about himself without another, as a single man worthy of being hit on by strangers. Berwald knew it was an independence thing, Timo's country's feelings welling up in his being. Berwald also knew what he felt for Lukas was not his country's feelings welling up in his being; they were all his.

The quiet nation in question is smugly looking at him through half-closed eyes now. Lukas is so different out on the skerry, more like the Lukas he had been when they were small children, playful and witty and teasing. Berwald is vaguely aware that he too changes when he comes out here, going back to the harsh winters and slow-paced summers he grew up with, both in his mind and in his actions, when he's out here. They say things, whatever they think first, because they are no longer two proud nations who must mistrust each other; they return to being two little boys who were so scared, promising to never grow up. The masks they wear fall away on the skerry.

When Lukas whispers with an almost hopeful tone, "I broke up with Christen," Berwald's heart doesn't hesitate in skipping a beat.

"I hope," he says slowly, "that it was not just for the weekend."

"Eh." Lukas wraps his arms around his body, looking out over the water they had just crossed. "You'd feel guilty if I was cheating on him with you."

"Lukas," he sighs, slightly disappointed. Berwald cannot imagine doing such things to Timo in a million years, but looking at Lukas and Christen he can see why they need breaks. Christen is as enamored with Lukas as Berwald with Timo, but the Dane cannot understand why his boyfriend would ever want to be left alone for more than ten minutes. So Lukas breaks up with him on a pretty regular basis (every thirty-seven days, Emil had informed them one meeting, that's about the average) which leaves Lukas feeling superior and Christen drunk somewhere, calling Berwald in the middle of the night crying that he's going to end it all. The main reason Berwald agrees to the breaks with Timo is to stop that from ever happening to his relationship.

"Relax," Lukas murmurs, leaning down to press his lips softly to Berwald's nose, "we broke up before you asked me out here."

"Why do you do that?" the Swede asked, loading up their things and following the other on the short path to the small house. "You love Christen, I know that. Why do you do this to him? Break his heart like this? Don't you want your relationship with Christen, Lukas?"

"Because," and the response was almost too quiet to hear though Berwald did catch it, "it's not like we can be in a relationship, you and I."

On the left there's a small clearing and on the right, Berwald's immense guilt.

* * *

><p>He's almost finished chopping all the logs before dinner, the sun still high in the summer sky. Lukas is sitting against a tree reading the book Emil had bought him for his last birthday; they do end up reading an awful lot out here he thinks, leaning against his axe for a moment. Berwald runs the back of his hand over his forehead, then wiping his face with his undershirt, cool wind blowing across his exposed stomach. He hadn't meant to go through the wood that quickly. Hell, he wasn't even in a foul mood, just really into chopping the firewood after a week spent on a computer dealing with international relations.<p>

"What are you thinking about?" Lukas whispers suddenly, not looking up from his book.

"If it's worth it to chop the last log. I've almost finished with all the wood."

"I can give you more wood to work with." That has him laughing, hands on his legs to prop himself up. No one else would ever joke like that with Berwald; his laugh is that much stronger because of how little it is used. Even Timo cannot make sexual comments to him quite as easily as Lukas always has.

"Lukas?"

"Yes Berwald?"

"Why is everything we say and do so sexual out here?"

There's a pause, where Berwald looks up to see Lukas lazily bookmark his page, rising from his seated position without raising his eyes, and he comes to stand before the Swede, his smell filling his nostrils.

"Berwald?"

"Yes Lukas?"

The smile is small, mischievous, one saved for Berwald. "Love me?"

* * *

><p>The house is small, custom, something else Berwald built with his own hands. There's an outhouse somewhere further along, because the weather's never bothered the Swede, though it does make Timo uncomfortable running out and back in the dead of winter. There's a fire pit in the clearing that he usually cooks on, though there are some battery- and gas-powered appliances in the cabin. And there's an open shower a short way off, all of which leaves the cabin with few necessary rooms. Emil had called it "cozy" which the Swede found a rather fitting description.<p>

The cabin has one long room. On the east side a breakfast nook doubles as the library, a bookshelf built against the closet wall in the middle of the space. The only other room, open to the cabin, is a small bedroom with a massive bed that Berwald can lay comfortably on without his feet coming off the end.

Not that that's a problem as Lukas rides him, Berwald's legs bent up to help hold the man up. Swedish hands hold tight to Norwegian hips, Lukas's head thrown back, and he watches his once long-time lover swallow and moan, continuing the sex. He's so beautiful to the sea-green eyes: pale skin, light hair, the faint lines of muscles all over his body. Berwald meets him with his own small thrusts, hitting that spot that drives his lover crazy, as Lukas grips the Swedish knees to keep going. He's so beautiful like this, and Berwald can't help but move one hand to stroke the cock between them, which warrants a gasp from its owner.

It's been so long since they've been together, and too soon it's over. Lukas comes first, pausing as his body calms a little. While normally Berwald would have followed his instinct of rolling the man over, he waits. Once Lukas's breathing has calmed he's moving up and down on Berwald again, slower, but still the Swede reaches his climax as well as hands run up and down his chest. When he's spent himself Lukas lays down on his chest and he holds the Norwegian close until they drift to sleep for a short nap.

Berwald awakes first, Lukas sleeping under his arm; he watches the smaller nation with his relaxed face and their intertwined limbs. It had been like this when they were young: hunt in the morning, sex around noon, a nap to follow. They had thought it would go on forever, Berwald and Lukas. But their names from then have changed, their religion, their relationship; that was the hardest one to let go of. He loves Timo, and he knows the man beside him loves (in his own, unique way) Christen, but they loved each other first. That was how they learned what love was: with each other.

* * *

><p>"When was the last time you had sex?" Lukas asks, his head hanging off the foot of the bed as he lays on his back, watching his companion. Berwald is sitting at the small table, legs stretched out because they'll just never fit under it. He likes to make lists, when he comes out to the skerry, of things to work on when he gets home. Once he's written what it was he had thought down, he makes a point to forget it until he gets back to Stockholm.<p>

The Swede shakes his wrist, his watch coming back to its place for him to tell the time. "Twenty-seven minutes ago." They had put their energy from their nap to good use with another round of sex.

Lukas sighs. "Point to you. When was the last time you had sex before today?"

That has him thinking, leaning back in the chair. He had been on a relationship break for about a week at this point, and Timo hadn't been feeling well the couple of days before that, and before that he had been busy-

"Point to me," the Norwegian smirks. "You need to get laid more Berwald. Do more manly things."

A blank stare meets his at that, green eyes blinking slowly before he speaks. "I just chopped nine logs into firewood, we're sitting comfortably in a house I built with my own hands, and the one who wore dresses for the better part of six hundred years just said I need to do more manly things?"

Lukas rolls onto his stomach. "That statement does not win you any points. Now come back to bed please."

"Well," and Berwald finishes scribbling the last thing on his list, "you did say please."

* * *

><p>They sit on one edge of the island where the land comes to a near-point, eroded by the lapping of the sea over years starting at a time before they were born, before there were such things as countries. The sun is low, though it will not set today. It won't for a while.<p>

He has his arm around the smaller man, holding him tightly to his chest. The Norwegian reads aloud from a nineteenth-century Swedish novel that they used to love.

Moments like these are easy, Berwald thinks; he doesn't have a lot of easy moments in his life. They only happen on the skerry.

* * *

><p>In the morning several clouds hang menacingly, so Lukas suggests Berwald build something to provide outdoor shelter in case of rain. With the unchopped log, some leftover wood from a previous project, and his well-worn carpentry equipment ("You need new tools," Lukas had noted), Berwald planes the wood, building a small awning to go over the cabin's doorway. When finished, Lukas comes out, helping him to stain the wood before putting it in place once it's dried. They're sitting under the awning on the kitchen chairs, lunch on their laps, legs propped up on the abused table, as tiny droplets being to fall from the sky.<p>

"Good call," Berwald murmurs, biting into his sandwich. He makes a mental note to roof the awning next time he comes out.

"Thank you," Lukas responds, and they watch the rain from their dry spot, water running off of the high-above leaves of ancient trees, as old as they are.

* * *

><p>Thunder from outside illuminates the small cabin, candles burning on the bedside tables as the two nations play at cards. For no reason in particular beyond that they could, they've made it a game of stripping. They've both been naked for about two hours at this point.<p>

"We were never very good at cards," Berwald comments, folding the hand he had held.

"You should bring a chess set out," Lukas responds, taking one of the prize chocolates for his own before shuffling the cards. "You're good at chess."

"Chess is a game of war."

"You're good at war."

"Hmm."

The Norwegian smirks, standing to retrieve more alcohol from the other room. "Nothing wrong with that, being good at war," he states lazily, crawling onto the bed beside his lover, pouring more wine into their glasses.

"Everything is wrong with that," Berwald protests weakly. He hates war, always has. As a younger nation he had had things worth fighting for: Lukas, Timo, his freedom. Now he understands that to not wage war, to not put his country through the fear and destruction, is better for them. He had lost his taste for blood very quickly when it became all he could dine on.

"Berwald?"

"Hmm?" He hadn't realized how lost in thought he was, but Lukas is shimmying up next to him so the Swede allows himself to become lost in something else.

"Love me?"

It's always the same two words, their words, when Lukas wants him, words in their old language. And Berwald has never been able to say no to that man when he says those words, throwing the pile of cards and the rest of the chocolate on the floor to roll them over. A perk of having played strip-whatever game they had been losing at was that they were already naked, Swedish kisses and hands trailing hot down Lukas's body. Berwald loves his body in a way different from Timo's, because Timo is a little bit curvy, a little bit chubby, a whole lot of cute.

"Cute" would never describe Lukas. His torso is flat, his lines straight and perfected. He's fit from years of sword swinging and preparing for wars, too many of them their countries waged against each other. Lukas used to sneak behind Swedish lines to lay with him, Berwald remembers, hands massaging Lukas's strong, creamy thighs. Berwald still remembers every sound he's ever elicited from Lukas over all the years, all the little gasps and moans and pleas. There is something so raw, so desperate, to Lukas when they have sex that it makes Berwald feel more human than anything else: more than his relationship with his boyfriend, more than playing with his son, more than blending in with a crowd and forgetting that he is immortal. The squirming and shallow breathing of the man beneath him are what remind him that despite being a country, Berwald is also a man.

And when he's moving inside him, Lukas's arms fighting between wrapping around his larger lover and running up and down his chest, Berwald truly does forget everything else. His mind goes blank, the Norwegian tight around him as he thrusts in slowly. The storm is still raging outside when Lukas starts gasping, clawing at him before coming with a shout of something. The Swede kisses at his neck, over and over, thrusting faster until he finishes as well. He has only enough energy to collapse beside him on the bed, to pull Lukas to his chest.

The Norwegian blows out the candles before returning to the bed, holding Berwald tight as they settle in beneath the sheets.

"Let's stay here forever," Lukas whispers once the last bolt of lightening has ceased illuminating the room. "Never leave."

Berwald grunts in understanding, because it would be nice to stay out here on the skerry forever. But he also grunts to remind Lukas that they can't, they have lovers to return to and jobs to attend to.

"Nice while it lasted," his lover whispers against his chest, soft hair tickling Berwald's chin.

"Always was."

* * *

><p>More than the houses, more than the mansions, the skerry is Berwald's favorite. It's a place to escape, to leave behind the life Fate has given him. Out here he can pretend that he's just a twenty-something year old Swede who hasn't lived for centuries. He can pretend that his relationship with Timo hasn't been dictated mainly by his country's government. He can pretend Emil is that little brother he always wanted, and that Peter is his son and his alone. He can imagine a world in which Christen isn't there, constantly bothering him. And he can believe, for just a weekend, that Lukas is his boyfriend, his sole love.<p>

The boat is loaded up, Berwald climbing in first. Lukas unties it from the shore, throwing the rope to his companion before coming down the stairs to hop in. The cabin is locked up, everything secured away until they return next.

"Before we go," the Norwegian whispers, his hand stilling Berwald's, and he leans up, stealing a kiss that is simple, timeless. It takes the Swedish nation's breath away because it's always been like this with Lukas, just like it's always been like this out on the skerry. It's never mattered how hard life is, what the climate has been, what was going on outside where he is. Soft lips move against his and Berwald pulls him close, the boat gently drifting away from the island.

They must always return to the ocean of time, swirling and churning and wild and unpredictable. But they are sea-faring nations and will survive, being sculpted into something simple and wonderful and all theirs as they drift away.

Just like the skerry.


End file.
